Zom_Dom
Ramblin' Man
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2009
- Posts
- 1,611
In the great cleansing fire of the Catastrophe, or The Great Cleansing as it has since come to be known, seventy five percent of the world’s population perished. Those who survived gave way under the un-ending tides of disease, famine, and general hopelessness that had gripped their hearts like a cold vice. A mere six months after the last of the bombs had fallen, the populations of the world’s continents numbered barely a few percent of it’s once proud billions.
Nomadic tribes of people are the norm and majority nowadays, traveling from place to place to place in hopes of finding something to eat, making a living however they can. Some fancy themselves traders, selling dry goods, arms and the like. Others have fashioned themselves as modern day Highwaymen, laying waste to all in their path and extolling great tolls from other travelers for the “privilege” of using their roadway.
Settlements rise and fall over time, changing little in the overall landscape besides making the cold, dark nights a little bit brighter with their fire light, their sparse laughter and their not-always-human warmth. Indeed caravans, tribes, even whole settlements have arisen of those not belonging to the “human” race, if any these days can be sure it still exists in its old form. Robots of varying makes and models can be found all over. Dwarves, humanoids shriveled over time by birth defects and radiation and disease cluster in the north, although some are found as far south as the great salt flats. Zombies, which go by many names; Infected, Diseased, Blighted, although the currently favored term is Forsaken, litter the landscape with their rotting corpses and vile pathogens. Mixed breeds, formed of all the previously prevalent forms of life can be found scattered throughout the world; products of gene splicing and genetic recombination - technology which although discouraged and unfunded before the Cleansing, now thrives as a black market service.
Cities are hulking wrecks, rusted out specters looming high against the bleak grey sky as reminders of what once and shall never be again. In consequence many avoid them, preferring the settlements and the roads, although Scavs, or scavengers hole up in abandoned buildings everywhere. There are even rumors that great militias travel between them, searching for technology and new recruits. There are worse rumors about how these recruits are press-ganged into service, forcibly taken from their lives like militaristic gypsies.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
http://natal-ee-a.deviantart.com/art...e-In-143314900
http://natal-ee-a.deviantart.com/art/This-World-We-Live-In-143314900
follow link if pic doesn't show
Tree Town, named after a small street sign found near the ruins the settlement is built on that said, "Tre ton" with a bit of graffiti over the missing 'n'. Tree town is more a hovel than a settlement, with rickshaws, teepees and shanties lining the small dirt paths, radioactive dust blowing in the wind and no water anywhere near town aside from the dirty stream running through part of it. Tree Town is by no means a large settlement, and barely qualifies as more than a camp. The order is much looser than other towns in the region, martial law is almost permanently the standard, but usually vigilante justice is quicker, faster and easier.
Wind rusted dust across the bleak “streets” of the settlement, with its ramshackle houses and stalls. The sign post at the edge of town rattled in the breeze with a clang and a clamor, the only sound audible on that edge of town in the cool morning air. The sun peeked over the horizon, its dull rays barely able to cut through the shroud of clouds and dust that filled the sky. Another bleak day was dawning in Tree Town, and few of its inhabitants saw reason so drag themselves from the arms of sleep and rouse themselves from their resting places. Still, merchants wearily began to open shutters and place out signs of advertisement, the few farmers of the barren soil took up implements and strode towards their meager plots, and various inhabitants wrested themselves from dreams or nightmares to return to the land of the living and face another day. Life was hard these days, not as hard as it had been at times in the past, but still a far cry from the days of whispered legends and fond fairy tales told around meal fires and by modern day bards.
Grey knew all too well the hardship these days imposed, though he never believed in the legends or the tall tales parents told their little ones to quiet them and put them to sleep at night. He had heard the tales from the elders before, and hadn’t believed them then either. His generation had been born into this nightmare and it was all they could to just get along, rather than mourn glory days long gone by. As he peered out of the small lean two he had spent the previous night in, watching the grey and green light rise over the horizon, his mind wandered to the tales he had heard as a child. Once the sun had shone down gloriously bright in the mornings, bright streaks of yellow and orange and crimson, but of course those days were long gone and dead; these days when sunrise was visible it shone through the dust and haze in shades of vermillion, navy blue and near the sea, in deep forest green and brown. As he rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes he shook the thoughts from his mind and rummaged about in his pack for breakfast. Finding only meager rations, he turned to the half rabbit from the night before, still spitted above the ashes of the long dead fire, and pulled it apart and ate it. It offered little repast, but it was all he had for the morning, and most likely all he would have all day, or at least until he was able to scrape together the funds for a proper restocking of supplies.
Heaving a great sigh and rising from the cold ground upon which he had lain, he dressed quickly and quietly before gathering up his pack and the few items that had been slipped from it during the night. Slinging it across his back he ventured out of the lean two and cast his eyes towards the settlement he had spent the night on the outskirts of. Hopefully there would be a caravan, or a trader; someone or something in need of another body to stand as guard as it braved the path from Tree Town to another settlement. He shuffled slowly into the heart of town, if it could be called that. It was where the most permanent traders had set up shop, and that was usually the best place to find a caravan or at least someone with whom to travel. Seeing a few random strangers bustling around, along with one face he recognized, he walked over and placed a hand on their shoulder,
“Fancy seeing you here. What are you doing in this shit hole town?”
Nomadic tribes of people are the norm and majority nowadays, traveling from place to place to place in hopes of finding something to eat, making a living however they can. Some fancy themselves traders, selling dry goods, arms and the like. Others have fashioned themselves as modern day Highwaymen, laying waste to all in their path and extolling great tolls from other travelers for the “privilege” of using their roadway.
Settlements rise and fall over time, changing little in the overall landscape besides making the cold, dark nights a little bit brighter with their fire light, their sparse laughter and their not-always-human warmth. Indeed caravans, tribes, even whole settlements have arisen of those not belonging to the “human” race, if any these days can be sure it still exists in its old form. Robots of varying makes and models can be found all over. Dwarves, humanoids shriveled over time by birth defects and radiation and disease cluster in the north, although some are found as far south as the great salt flats. Zombies, which go by many names; Infected, Diseased, Blighted, although the currently favored term is Forsaken, litter the landscape with their rotting corpses and vile pathogens. Mixed breeds, formed of all the previously prevalent forms of life can be found scattered throughout the world; products of gene splicing and genetic recombination - technology which although discouraged and unfunded before the Cleansing, now thrives as a black market service.
Cities are hulking wrecks, rusted out specters looming high against the bleak grey sky as reminders of what once and shall never be again. In consequence many avoid them, preferring the settlements and the roads, although Scavs, or scavengers hole up in abandoned buildings everywhere. There are even rumors that great militias travel between them, searching for technology and new recruits. There are worse rumors about how these recruits are press-ganged into service, forcibly taken from their lives like militaristic gypsies.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
http://natal-ee-a.deviantart.com/art...e-In-143314900
http://natal-ee-a.deviantart.com/art/This-World-We-Live-In-143314900
follow link if pic doesn't show
Tree Town, named after a small street sign found near the ruins the settlement is built on that said, "Tre ton" with a bit of graffiti over the missing 'n'. Tree town is more a hovel than a settlement, with rickshaws, teepees and shanties lining the small dirt paths, radioactive dust blowing in the wind and no water anywhere near town aside from the dirty stream running through part of it. Tree Town is by no means a large settlement, and barely qualifies as more than a camp. The order is much looser than other towns in the region, martial law is almost permanently the standard, but usually vigilante justice is quicker, faster and easier.
Wind rusted dust across the bleak “streets” of the settlement, with its ramshackle houses and stalls. The sign post at the edge of town rattled in the breeze with a clang and a clamor, the only sound audible on that edge of town in the cool morning air. The sun peeked over the horizon, its dull rays barely able to cut through the shroud of clouds and dust that filled the sky. Another bleak day was dawning in Tree Town, and few of its inhabitants saw reason so drag themselves from the arms of sleep and rouse themselves from their resting places. Still, merchants wearily began to open shutters and place out signs of advertisement, the few farmers of the barren soil took up implements and strode towards their meager plots, and various inhabitants wrested themselves from dreams or nightmares to return to the land of the living and face another day. Life was hard these days, not as hard as it had been at times in the past, but still a far cry from the days of whispered legends and fond fairy tales told around meal fires and by modern day bards.
Grey knew all too well the hardship these days imposed, though he never believed in the legends or the tall tales parents told their little ones to quiet them and put them to sleep at night. He had heard the tales from the elders before, and hadn’t believed them then either. His generation had been born into this nightmare and it was all they could to just get along, rather than mourn glory days long gone by. As he peered out of the small lean two he had spent the previous night in, watching the grey and green light rise over the horizon, his mind wandered to the tales he had heard as a child. Once the sun had shone down gloriously bright in the mornings, bright streaks of yellow and orange and crimson, but of course those days were long gone and dead; these days when sunrise was visible it shone through the dust and haze in shades of vermillion, navy blue and near the sea, in deep forest green and brown. As he rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes he shook the thoughts from his mind and rummaged about in his pack for breakfast. Finding only meager rations, he turned to the half rabbit from the night before, still spitted above the ashes of the long dead fire, and pulled it apart and ate it. It offered little repast, but it was all he had for the morning, and most likely all he would have all day, or at least until he was able to scrape together the funds for a proper restocking of supplies.
Heaving a great sigh and rising from the cold ground upon which he had lain, he dressed quickly and quietly before gathering up his pack and the few items that had been slipped from it during the night. Slinging it across his back he ventured out of the lean two and cast his eyes towards the settlement he had spent the night on the outskirts of. Hopefully there would be a caravan, or a trader; someone or something in need of another body to stand as guard as it braved the path from Tree Town to another settlement. He shuffled slowly into the heart of town, if it could be called that. It was where the most permanent traders had set up shop, and that was usually the best place to find a caravan or at least someone with whom to travel. Seeing a few random strangers bustling around, along with one face he recognized, he walked over and placed a hand on their shoulder,
“Fancy seeing you here. What are you doing in this shit hole town?”
